


A Ring for my Love

by KoreArabin



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bondage, Butter as lube, Cock Rings, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Forced Arousal, Gags, Humiliation, M/M, Nipple Play, Panties, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12010656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: Inside the case are three things. Firstly, a polished silver ring, too large to be worn on a finger. Stomach sinking, Sebastian unfolds the second item. A pair of what appear to be ladies black silk drawers, inset with panels of shimmering black satin, but rather too large for the ladies of Sebastian's acquaintance, at least. And, finally a note, in the Professor's flowing script."My dearest Sebastian. You shall wear the enclosed to the Ambassador's ball tonight, beneath your evening clothes, and you shall not remove either item unless I give you my express permission to do so. À plus tard, mon pigeon!"





	A Ring for my Love

Let it never be said that Colonel Sebastian Moran is a man to turn down a challenge. Yet, even facing down a desperate, mortally-wounded tiger in the close confines of a stinking, baking drain somehow seems preferable to this little test.

Sebastian sits and stares at the small, elegant, leather case on the desk before him, delivered to his hotel room an hour or so before. He had opened the case full of curiosity, finding it difficult to believe that it was any kind of gift from the Professor, yet fully cognisant of the fact that no-one else is likely to even know that he is here in Paris, let alone send mysterious packages to him.

Inside the case are three things. Firstly, a polished silver ring, too large to be worn on a finger. Stomach sinking, Sebastian unfolds the second item. A pair of what appear to be ladies black silk drawers, inset with panels of shimmering black satin, but rather too large for the ladies of Sebastian's acquaintance, at least. And, finally a note, in the Professor's flowing script.

"My dearest Sebastian. You shall wear the enclosed to the Ambassador's ball tonight, beneath your evening clothes, and you shall not remove either item unless I give you my express permission to do so. À plus tard, mon pigeon!"

If Sebastian was in any doubt as to the purpose of the silver ring, the Professor's note has dispelled it. It is clearly a cock ring, something that Sebastian, being a man of the world, has heard of (and, indeed, as a young man experimented upon himself with a bottlace or leather strap on a couple of occasions), but he has never worn anything so hard and unyielding, and certainly not in public. And with the drawers! Simply looking at the soft, silky material, and imagining how it will feel against his cockhead has given him an erection. How on earth will he cope with the feel of it against him if his cock is bound and swollen and over-sensitised?

The Professor, so very forceful and demanding as a lover, so very sadistic (and hasn't Sebastian's libido flourished under that sort of control), is though something of an innocent when it comes to the finer points of sexual congress. Sebastian had been very surprised to learn that his employer's sexual experience extended only so far as a blushing ingénue's introduction to the finer arts of fellatio, and a few, brief, perfunctory couplings with a very limited selection of young men, where he was always the dominant partner.

To Sebastian's knowledge, he is the only one ever to have had the very exquisite pleasure of taking the great Professor James Moriarty, and reducing him to a moaning, writhing, ejaculating mess in the doing of it. Which makes the Professor's sudden order even more unexpected. It seems almost - perverted - to Sebastian's way of thinking, trussing one's manhood up in female undergarments and yet, even as he thinks about this perversion, his hand is on the crotch of his trousers, plaming his length through the tweed and pressing the heel of his hand agaist his testicles.

 

Sebastian knows that he will never be able to attend the Ambassador's ball this evening without being able to relieve himself. There is simply no possibility that he would be able to deport himself with even the most basic standard of decorum required for a public outing of any description, in his present state. His cock is rigid against his underclothes; too rigid, in fact, for him to slide the cock ring down over his erection without a great amount of difficulty and some pain, even with lubrication.

He eyes his evening clothes, hanging neatly pressed and brushed, against the wardrobe. Normally, the Professor would not dream of distracting him in such a way, but would expect him to be alert and focussed, waiting patiently and watchfully for any suggestion of danger to his employer, or any indication from the Professor to act on his behalf. But this trip has been designated a holiday for them; a round of social engagements - balls, drinks parties, dinner parties, and gallery and theatre visits - for them both to enjoy, free from their usual preoccupation with the smooth running of the Professor's myriad business interests.

The Professor's empire is quietly managing itself, their immaculate planning and anticipation of possible hazards ahead having oiled the tracks to the extent that it can chuff away for a week or so without concern. And the insufferable Holmes is off in the country somewhere, distracted by maniacs on bicycles or gigantic slavering hounds or other mysteries of that kidney. So it would appear that the Professor has decided to indulge himself, at Sebastian's discomfort and expense.

He punches the wardrobe door in vexation. Damn the Professor. If he's got to do this, he's got to relieve himself before even attempting to put the ring on, and the note said nothing about not being allowed to do so. He quickly unbuttons his trousers, his cock springing up rigidly at attention, and takes it in hand, his other hand sliding inside his fly to cup his testicles. Sebastian hardly needs to squeeze gently along his hot length before he feels the swell of incipient orgasm building at the base of his cock.

Closing his eyes, he imagines lying on his back, his wrists tied above his head, naked except for drawers, pulled down just enough to reveal the silver ring, tight around the base of his penis, begging for release as the Professor looks on, cigarette in hand, the tip of his tongue idly flicking away a stray strand of tobacco from his lower lip.

It is that vision of Moriarty's lips and tongue, and his eyes upon him as he writhes and begs for release in his humiliation, that has Sebastian gasping and jerking, spending hot and wet into his hand as his cock spasms, panting until the last shocks of his climax have faded, leaving him light-headed at the force of his orgasm. Groaning, he stumbles back and sits back against the bed, waiting for his pulse to stop pounding and his heart rate to return to normal.

Only an hour now until he has to leave for the Amassador's ball. Sebastian lies back with another groan and closes his eyes.

 

Sebastian surveys himself in the mirror. He is not a vain man, and normally would only cast a cursory glance over himself before going out, to ensure that his hair is neatly brushed and his tie straight. Today, however, he stares at himself, wishing the whole evening were over and done with. He has dressed his upper half, and looks resplendent in his crisp white shirt, white silk waistcoat and white bow tie. His evening frock coat still hangs from the wardrobe and his trousers are laid out on the counterpane. His lower half is still naked.

Reluctantly he takes the silver ring from its box, and eases it down over his cock, settling it in place at the base. As he pulls on the silk drawers they slide teasingly over his cock and helplessly he feels himself stiffening. Slightly cursing Moriarty with every possible expletive known to man he pulls on the trousers, buttons the fly and his braces. He slips on his frock coat, buttons his white dress gloves, and picks up his overcoat and hat and heads out to summon a cab.

He stares out at the lights of Paris, unseeing, his cock rubbing insistently against the smooth, silken material of the drawers the whole miserable journey. Every jolt and rattle of the carriage emphasises the shameful secret lurking? beneath his smart, cultured? exterior: that he is a man who allows his manhood to be trussed up and under the control of another man. The notion should shock and repulse him, but it only makes his cock harder.

Arriving at the Amabssador's residence, his cock is still stiff in his trousers, and he has to resist the urge to adjust himself in his trousers. Fiddling with one's privates in public at the Ambassador's annual ball is hardly the done thing. Sebastian curses under his breath again when he spots the Professor making his way towards him, a malicious smile playing at the side of his mouth. "My dear Moran, you were able to come after all! How wonderful to see you!"

Moriarty takes his arm and guides him gently but insistently over to one of the waiters bearing glasses of champagne. Handing a glass to Sebastian, he murmurs, sotto voce, "Just one or two glasses for you tonight, chick. I should not like too much alcohol to dampen the edges of your predicament."

Sebastian snorts and takes a long swallow of his drink. "Did you masturbate before donning the ring, Moran?"

Sebastian snorts again, more loudly. "Yes, I did, Sir. There was no blessed way I'd get the bloody thing over meself if I hadn't of, first."

Moriarty's voice is chilly. "I see. That was foolish of you, my dove. Did I give you permission to relieve yourself in such a way?"

"No, but you didn't not give me permission, neither, Sir."

"Indeed I did not. But are you a child, Moran, that needs my express instruction in everything you may or may not do? You know very well that in our games, you follow my directions to the letter, and you do not imagine that because I have not expressly forbade this, or denied that, that you may otherwise do anything you wish."

Sebastian's reply is very quiet. "I am sorry, Sir."

"No matter, now. You will be punished for it later."

The ball is torture for Sebastian. The Professor appears to be acquainted with everyone in attendance, and leads Sebastian from group to group, totally at ease whether carrying on mild flirtations with the matrons and their eligible daughters, or talking politics and financial affairs with the various men? present. Sebastian attempts to join in the conversations, knowing that he cannot simply stand like an automaton at the Professor's side, but he is constantly distracted by the erection prodding insistently at his thigh, and terrified that someone will notice it. His discomfort is compounded by the fact that he can feel his cock constantly leaking pre-ejaculate into the drawers, and his horror at the thought of developing a wet stain on his trousers.

The Professor is merciless, however. On catching sight of a rather large-bosomed, regal lady passing by with a somewhat pale and dowdy girl in tow, Moriarty hails her and, in the flurry of introductions and compliments and gossip, it is arranged that Sebastian will take the dowdy daughter on to the dance floor. Sebastian's whispers are quiet but urgent.

"Do not ask this of me, please, Sir. I cannot dance in this condition. Please, Sir, I beg of you."

The Professor snaps back. "Then you should have considered that before touching your prick without my permission." Then more loudly, "Colonel Moran will be delighted to accompany Miss Sophia for the next dance. His only concern is that his dancing prowess will not do justice to her beauty."

Miss Sophia blushes and lowers her eyes, whilst Sebastian is tight-lipped and white-faced as he takes her hand and stiffly walks her to the dancefloor.

The agony of a half page worth of Miss Sophia's dance card later, Sebastian is at last free to hobble as gracefully as he can to a chair in the corner and sit, crossing his legs immediately. For the moment, thankfully, the Professor is nowhere to be seen. Sebastian grabs another glass of champagne from a passing waiter and downs it in one. It makes no difference to the feeling of his cock, hanging heavy and sore between his legs.

He jumps as he feels a hand on his shoulder. "Another glass of champagne, my dove? You most certainly do appear to be craving punishment this evening. I should lock you up like this more often, perhaps?"

Sebastian turns, rubbing his cheek lightly and unobtrusively on Moriarty's hand. He feels as if he is on the verge of tears. His cock is so painful and he craves release. Surely another minute of this exquisite torture will have him breaking down and sobbing.

 

"Follow me, my dove."

The Professor leads him along a hallway, away from the music and chatter or the ball, and opens a door on the right, which leads into a small room, half-filled with stacked chairs. Turning the key in the lock, he turns to Sebastian, surprising him with a hard, sharp, slap across the face. "That is for masturbating without permission, my dove. And that, and that. Now remove your coat and waistcoat."

Sebastian's eyes are stinging with tears in response to the Professor's violent slaps to his face. Dumbly, he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons his waistcoat, and throws them over a stack of chairs. "And your tie. And open your shirt."

Obeying again without question, he is nonetheless startled and winded when Moriarty foces him back against the wall, one hand grasping his wrists tightly, and forcing them up above his head, the other hand snaking into his unbuttoned shirt to stroke at his nipples, his thigh between Sebastians', keeping him pinned and off balance against the wall.

Sebastian hisses with pain as Moriarty licks and bites at one, and then the other, nipple, whilst pressing his thigh up against Sebastian's swollen balls. He gasps and twists in the Professor's grip as he continues to torment his nipples and kneeing him hard in the testicles, all the time deliberately avoiding Sebastian's, swollen, weeping cock.

"Please, Sir, please - just touch me, Sir, please."

"No, I don't think so, chick. No, I rather think that your behaviour this evening hardly merits such a reward, do you, my dove?" When Sebastian remains silent, the Professor increases the pressure on his testicles. "Do you, my dove?"

Sebastian gasps. "No Sir! I don't deserve no reward, Sir. Only....."

"Shush, chick, shush. Turn around and remove your trousers."

"But what if someone comes in? What if....."

"Then they would see a man with his manhood trussed up with a metal ring, wearing a pair of ladies' drawers. And you, my sweet dove, would be utterly humiliated. That is what would happen if someone should come in. Shall I unlock the door?"

"No! No! Sir, I beg you - no!"

"You do indeed protest too much, Colonel. For I know, only too well, that the thought of such mortification has your cock hardening even more, has you straining for release, has you longing only to be allowed to touch yourself again to issue, and to spend yourself hot and wet into these fine silken underclothes. Does it not, my dove?"

"No - yes - the devil take you, Sir - yes! It makes me..... it makes me want you to make me do as you will, Sir. To use me, to - humiliate me, if that is what you want, Sir. Only - please - Sir!"

 

Sebastian pulls his trousers off quickly and throws them on top of his coat and waistcoat, clad now only in his unbuttoned shirt and the silk drawers.

Moriarty's order is low and threatening.

"Against the wall."

Sebastian moves, but not quickly enough, and feels himself again shoved forcibly forwards, his wrist twisted up behind his back, and his face pressed against the wall. Releasing the grip slightly, Moriarty growls against his ear. "Open your mouth."

Sebastian complies immediately, and is rewarded with the Professor's index and middle fingers, pressing into his mouth.

"Lick them. Do it."

He slurps and suckles at the digits, pretty sure that he know where they will be going next and wanting them to be as wet and slick as possible. "Good boy. Now remove your drawers."

Almost whimpering with frustrated arousal, Sebastian struggles to pull the drawers off, slick as they are, soaked with pre-ejaculate. "Give them to me."

Sebastian hands the flimsy garment to Moriarty, his cheeks scarlet with mortification as the Professor holds them up to the light, sniffing at the dark streaks of precome, and chuckling low in his throat. "It appears, despite your protestations to the contrary, that you have been enjoying yourself, Colonel. I do not recall ever seeing such a prodigious amount of pre-ejaculate, even in my undergraduate days. Have you enjoyed having your cock trussed up for my amusement, Colonel? Having your manhood locked up, and covered with ladies' undergarments?"

Sebastian knows that the Professor's words are only another part of their game, designed to humiliate and arouse him further.

"Yes, Sir, damn it! You know this, Sir, that I am yours and whatever you wish to do to me, it will.... it will make me...."

"Yes, my dove?"

"Soak any garments you want to put me in to, Sir - James...."

"I see. Then perhaps we should ensure that you truly savour your predicament. Open your mouth, my love."

The Professor pushes the sodden drawers into Sebastian's mouth, ensuring that the streaks of pre-ejaculate rest against his tongue. "And, of course, this will ensure that any womanly shrieks of pleasure do not disturb the Ambassador's other guests."

Pressing Sebastian again hard against the wall, his arm still twisted up painfully behind his back, Moriarty pushes a finger up into his arse. It is too dry, and it burns, and Sebastian grunts and twists against the invader, but to no avail. Abruptly, the finger is withdrawn, and he hears the wet sound of the Professor lubricating his fingers with his own saliva. "Delicious." Sebastian does not know whether Moriarty is referring to the taste of his forbidden, secret, place, or to its hot tightness.

Two fingers force up into him, a little easier this time with the added lubrication but, even so, Sebastian finds himself standing on tiptoe, wriggling to accommodate the intrusion. "No, no, my dove, that will not do. Sit yourself down and take it. You must accept that I wish to use you, and that you will be used, and that is simply that."

 

Sebastian moans into his silken gag, as the Professor opens him up, occasionally adding a little more saliva to his fingers. Before there are even three fingers inside him, his dry hole is sore, and the skin of his rim drags at his invader's digits as they are thrust repeatedly into him, stretching and opening him despite the pain.

Then, without warning, he feels the head of Moriarty's cock pressing at his opening, and he tries to speak, but his objection are muffled in the undergarments filling his mouth.

"Aha! An objection from the man with the locked up cock? I think not. A slut who has allowed himself to be emasculated in such a way surely cannot object to being taken as his "sex" would dictate? No, indeed, gentle dove, you shall be filled up with a man's hard prick, and fucked like the needy bitch you are."

The Professor releases his grip on Sebastian's arm. "Now hold your chose open and moan for me, my love."

Face and chest still pressed against the wall, Sebastian does as he is instructed, pushing his backside up and back in silent supplication, holding his buttocks apart so that his sore, secret place is totally on display, whilst moaning into the slick, sodden, material filling his mouth.

The Professor enters and fills him in one, long, burning thrust. Sebastian keens against his gag, the invasion too much - too brutal, too dry, too painful for him to take any pleasure in it. "Hold yourself open, slut." He struggles to obey, face pressed against the wall, arse tilted up and back, and all the while trickling a constant stream of pre-ejaculate from the tip of his bound cock.

The Professor's thrusts into him are merciless, concentrating only on his own pleasure, Sebastian simply a tight, hot, willing receptacle. "And you are still so very wet, Colonel." Moriarty's swipe of his thumb over the head of Sebastian's prodigiously weeping cock is not gentle.

"What a wanton bitch you are, my love. But so very tight and so very hot, far tighter than the other whores of your calling. But - do you wish to be a man again, to have your cock freed and be allowed to climax like a man."

Sebastian twists his head as far around as he can, his eyes wild, grunting loudly through the gag.

"Very well, then, my wanton, tight, bitch, you shall be allowed to come, but only when I let you. Only when I tell you to. Do you understand that, my wanton slut?"

Sebastian moans and begs with his eyes, wincing as the Professor reaches down to twist the ring now virtually embedded into the base of his cock. "So tight, my dove. You are so prodigiously swollen. How shall we remove it?"

In panic, Sebastian's eyes dart around the room - stacked chairs and table linen - nothing that could be used to free him from his predicament. Yet - there - a discarded breakfast tray? Jam on stale toast lies strewn beside a coffee pot, aand a teapot, and a small jug of milk. But, there is also a small pile of unused butter curls, faintly sagging now, in the warm evening air and, with relief, he wriggles and gestures towards the tray.

"Well observed, my dove. Now, what to use? Butter or jam?"

 

"Take a handful of the butter, Sebastian, and slick yourself up. You may remove the ring, but not touch yourself any further than is required to do so - is that clear?"

Mmmmphing a sound to the affirmative, Sebastian scoops up as much of the butter as he can, and smears it over his straining cock with a most satisfying squelch. Twisting the ring, with enormous relief he feels its grip suddenly give, and he is able to slide it up his shaft, only struggling slightly when it reaches the engorged head. Then, at last, the wretched thing is off and his cock is free.

For a moment there is only pain, as the blood begins to move again in his groin without the restriction of the ring, yet this soon passes and he is left only with the longing for release, his cock uncomfortably swollen, and his balls full and heavy. Moriarty stares at his prick, standing up hard, red and liberally greased with butter. "My, my, my dear tiger, what a truly superb specimen you are." He takes Sebastian's balls in hand, rolling them gently in his fingers, and Sebastian is nearly lost.

Withdrawing his hand abruptly, Moriarty embraces his lover from behind, his fingers again teasing at his nipples, and his own stiff manhood pressed between Sebastian's buttocks. "Now, my dove, you shall prepare yourself and I shall take you again, and you shall ride me to completion. You shall not touch yourself, but place your hands against the wall whilst you are mounted on my prick, and you shall spend when I order it. Begin."

Sebastian reaches behind himself, with one hand holding his buttocks apart and with the other smearing the remains of the butter over his opening. "Legs wider apart. Let me see you finger yourself."

Only when he is bend nearly double, forehead resting on his free hand against the wall, and has filled himself with three fingers to the knuckle, does the Professor allow him to stop. Then, he once again takes Sebastian in one, hard, brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt in his sniper's warm, tight, body.

"Ride me, chick, yes - that's it - ride my prick, and moan for me, my love. Yes, oh, yes!"

Sebastian can do nothing else, his own hard cock slapping against his stomach as he fucks himself harder on his Master's prick, filling and stretching him and pressing so deliciously against that spot inside of him which makes him see stars and his vision whiten at the edges. Even through the gag, his moans of supplication can be made out clearly.

"Wait, my dove. When I allow it. Just a little longer."

He hears Moriarty's breathing grow harsher and faster as his climax approaches and, taking both of Sebastian's nipples and pinching them hard, he at last gives permission for him to orgasm. It is perhaps fortuitous that the Professor gagged him, for Sebastian's cry of release as he climaxes is loud and long, as he shudders through one of the most powerful orgasms he can ever recall experiencing. The force of it takes his legs from beneath him and he is momentarily insensible, coming back to consciousness to find himself laid on the floor with Moriarty hugging him closely to him.

"My brave, good, handsome tiger, you did so very well." The Professor kisses him, gently but throroughly, stroking his back and his hair, comforting him and bringing him down from the exhilarating heights of his intense climax. "You are so very strong, and so very good, my dear Sebastian, in all that you do for me. You are - you are very precious to me, my dove."

Moriarty kisses him again, and Sebastian thinks that this must surely be heaven, lying warm and secure in his lover's arms, quite, quite spent and exhausted.

"When you have recovered, my dove, we shall dress you and fetch you a glass or aqua vitae to fortify you, and then return to our hotel. After all, chick, the week is still young and I want you fresh and rested for the other little - experiments - I have planned for you." Smiling to himself, Sebastian turns his face into the Professor's chest and breathes the scent of him in, deeply, relishing it. A week of more experiments, hmmmm? This holiday is turning out to be far more fun than he ever expected.


End file.
